With You: With you, I am who I want to be.

by Jensen Kristyne

  "Who?" the piece of shit croaks out under my arm.

  "Brielle!" I grind my teeth. I refuse to give him what he wants . . . the satisfaction of seeing me break down. "What the fuck have you done with her?"

  "Oh," he chokes. "Her."

  "Where is she?"

  "How should I know? I've been here with you."

  I apply more pressure and watch him squirm in pain.

  "You know, I could snap your neck," I tell him honestly. The idea of how easy it would be makes me consider showing him. But what would that solve? I inhale a deep breath and shove off him. "I won't ask again."

  His grin is both equally terrifying as it is proof that he knows more than he's letting on. "I'd love to help, but sadly, my hands are clean with this one."

  I roll my eyes. "Hiring someone to do it for you doesn't make your hands clean. It makes you weak. Who bought her death?" I'm yelling now. The feeling that I may be too late causes the muscles in my body to tense and my heart to race. "Tell me! Keller? Bushkova?" I plead with him. The subtle tremor in my hands is evident as I shove him back to the wall, negating any workable credit I may have held.

  Her love made her weak, I hear his words in my mind.

  "Neither." He squints as if reading my mind. "I sold it to Hurst."

  What?

  No.

  I stumble back.

  My eyes falling to the floor while my mind searches for an answer, as if it could be found in the wood grain of the floor. He wouldn't stoop so low as to call in Hurst. Would he? I run a hand through my hair. My resolve to keep things calm is all but gone now, and I lunge for him.

  My fist connects with his jaw again, just as his men grab me from behind. I watch him fall to his knees. "I will kill you for this!" I threaten him. “If anything happens to her, I’ll kill you!”

  "And I believe you," he says as my back collides with Wes's chest the moment they throw me backward.

  "They don't mean . . ." Wes lets his words trail off.

  "Graham Hurst. Yes." I nod. "Fuck!" I yell, not caring who's watching.

  "But . . . he's . . . sick," Wes says as if I didn't already know. I trained the guy. "Didn't you say he raped Dev—"

  "Just, shut the fuck up, Wes!" I yell.

  I am beyond pissed, not at him but at myself. I should have never left her alone. I close my eyes and let my head fall back. "Wait. That's it!"

  "It's pointless to go after her," my father calls from behind his protective bubble of men. "By now, she's probably with that useless brother of hers."

  "The fuck did you just say?" Wes yells, but I put my hand on his chest, shaking my head.

  "No. Forget him. This is what he wants," I groan, motioning for him to follow me instead. I feel the darkness that’s inside me taking over, and my better half steps aside to follow his lead. "Is Becks safe?"

  "Yes, she's with her parents," he answers automatically. "We bumped into them and Brielle’s, just before I—"

  "That's great," I interrupt him, not interested in the details but just that she’s safe. "I think I know where Hurst would have taken her," I say as the two of us burst out the front door and sprint around the side of the Manor.

  A group of loner teens sees us, taking interest, but none of them makes an effort to move a muscle. They all look high as shit and probably assume we are too. "My senior year, we toured this place," I share with Wes.

  "Yeah? And?"

  "And if I remember correctly, there's a small shed just on the other side of the guest house," I say as we round the far side of the Manor and notice the exterior light shining from underneath the shed’s door, off in the distance. "Multiple shadows," I make a point to tell Wes, as some relief pulses through my veins and fills me with an added strength I'm going to need.

  "I'm with you." Wes claps me on the back. "I told you, whatever you need."

  The moment we reach the door, I nod.

  "Hurst is a strong fighter but he always carries," I warn Wes. "So watch his hands."

  I hear Brielle scream. The sound of her voice is all I need to throw the doors open. The fact that she’s still alive is enough for me, for now. But I’m wrong

  chapter forty-four

  BRIELLE

  Silhouettes in the candlelight dance along the floor in an eerie way as a sea of golden masks threaten to swallow me whole. I step around a woman wearing a vintage, navy gown, a double strand of ivory pearls clinging to her neck. I feel the music in every step I take. The steady beat of the bass radiates through my body, dissolving into the hardwood floor through my heels.

  I see Luca and drop my train, the heavy crystals sounding like a thick rain as they hit the floor and pool around my feet.

  "Holy shit." He nearly drops his plate when he sees me walk up to him. His eyes are moving down my body as I wait for him to realize that I can see him. "Y- you look . . .y- you are—"

  "Thank you." I offer him a small smile, trying not to react in a way that he could misinterpret as anything other than friendly—something I realize isn't as easy as I thought it would be.

  I run my eyes over his suit and recognize it as the same one he wore to our school's prom. His father's cut had never fit him then as it does now. The shoulders and arms that were once baggy now hug him perfectly.

  "You look handsome," I say after a minute.

  As if suddenly remembering something, Luca drops his gaze to his plate and steps to the side. "What are you doing over here?" he asks. The strain in his voice makes my heart sink. I can tell he’s hurting.

  Out of habit, I reach out and touch his arm. "Luca, please," I beg him. "Can we just move on from this? I can't imagine you not in my life."

  He lifts his head to stare at me. The baby blue of his eyes is darker under the soft hue of the candlelight. "Don't do that." He closes his hand over mine, slowly lifting it and setting it back down by my side. The motion surprises me but not as much as the fact that even when he's upset, Luca still remains a gentleman. "You can't say that to me."

  Closing my eyes, I turn my head to the side.

  "But it's true." I inhale a sharp breath and step toward him. "Just because I'm with Theo doesn't mean that I don't still care about you. You're my best—"

  "Don't say that!" The tips of his fingers clench into a fist.

  "Say what? That you're my best friend?"

  "No." He turns around and sets his plate down on the table behind us. "Don't tell me you care about me."

  "What? But I do?"

  "Stop, Brielle! Just, stop. You don't mean it like how I mean it."

  I hold my breath as I watch the array of emotions flash across his face. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to—"

  "Just . . . leave me . . . leave me alone, okay?" He takes a step backward, turning around and walking off.

  "Luca, wait!" I call his name.

  My feet are already moving under me as I follow him through the room. The need to check on my friend is more important than anything else.

  I watch as he pushes past a family, who glares at him. He then rounds the corner and disappears out the front door.

  Crap. I pause when I hit the threshold, dropping my eyes. A foreboding sense washes over me as I work myself up to the idea of taking the next step. Theo's warning from this morning echoes inside my mind and urges me to stop before something bad happens. The hundred or so times I swore that I wouldn't stray swells in my chest, making me doubt myself.

  "You got this," I whisper aloud and take a step. Then another. "Luca!" I yell the moment I catch up with him, reaching out and grasping his arm. "Why did you run?"

  "Go back inside, Brielle."

  "No." I dig my heel into the gravel with the next step.

  I watch his shoulders sag as he inhales a rather large breath. As he does so, the back of his jacket gets a slight pull, making me think that he has been working out. He turns around.

  "What? What do you want from me?" He throws his arm open wide. The vulnerable expression he's wearing makes my heart contract.

&nb
sp; "I just . . ." I pause when I'm not sure what it is I actually want. Forgiveness? For him to say that he’ll still be my friend. What?

  As if reading my mind, Luca steps closer and takes my hand in his. "If you're wanting me to say that I'll be able to get over this . . . get over you," he almost whispers, "I can't promise that yet. I've waited years for you to wake up and realize what's been in front of you for so long." He closes his eyes. "It's going to take me more than a minute to wrap my head around the idea that this is not going to happen."

  "I'm sorry," I say, feeling the bottom of my eyes beginning to well.Luca raises his hand and brushes a tear that's sliding down my cheek. "Don't be sorry.” A slight humor rings behind his words. "I just need time."

  "Okay." I nod, then throw my arms around him before he has the chance to react. "Just promise me you'll keep in contact with Becks?" I half laugh, half sob into his shoulder. "Someone has to make sure you're taking care of yourself."

  "Do I have to?"

  I giggle and pull back to look at him, arching my brow and shaking my head. "Be nice."

  He rolls his eyes as if he thinks my request is silly but he's smiling. "Fine. I promise."

  "Thank you."

  The two of us stand there, staring at one another, for a moment longer before my mind is practically screaming at me to run.

  That foreboding sense hits me like a tidal wave, as it crashes over and over until something catches my eye. A tall man in a brown leather jacket and jeans walks up to us, with a gun in his hand. The small, black chunk of metal makes me choke. Images of Mason and his lifeless body invade my mind and dominate the tiny voice that’s telling me to run.

  "Well, fuck me if Gerald wasn't telling the truth." The man clicks his tongue against the back of his teeth. The sharp features of his face, too angular to be attractive. He’s wild looking. "You're gorgeous, baby."

  "Hey, man," Luca cautiously takes a step in front of me. His arms reach back to hold me as I grip the sleeve of his jacket. "Put down the gun and let's talk. I have money. I can—"

  It's then the man is joined by a group of three others—all of them gangly things in roughed up clothes. "Oh, we have plenty of money, kid. I'm sorry, it's Luca, right?" the man in the leather jacket croaks. His voice is hoarse as if he's ill. He turns back to his men, then cuts his eyes to Luca. "He thought you might be with the girl."

  Luca slides his footing back, and I move with him.

  "What? What do you want with Brielle?"

  "Just to talk." He half closes his eyes, then runs his tongue along his teeth.

  "And if she doesn't want to?"

  As if on cue, the man bursts out laughing, his mouth gaping as he waves the gun, like he's pointing a finger. "Oh fuck." He laughs. "That's great, kid. I needed a laugh."

  I then notice Luca, tilt his head to the side, as he mouths for me to “get ready.”

  Get ready?

  For what?

  I sweep my eyes around us, looking for a clue as to what the hell he expects me to be ready for.

  "Ha. Yeah, you're welcome.” Luca forces himself to laugh. The dry act confuses me. “But I think we should probably head back inside now." He turns, grabbing my arm and pulling me with him. We barely make it a step as two more men walk up and cross their arms in front of their chests. Both of them are standing with their fingers clutched around another chunk of metal. "Shit."

  "Oh yeah. I could have told you that trying to run was pointless." The man chuckles to himself. He grits his teeth, like this is the most awkward moment he's ever been in. "Sorry, I thought that was . . . kind of . . . obvious."

  I can feel Luca's muscles under his jacket shake as he continues to hold me behind him. He's scared and I am too. The last time any of us were anywhere near a gun, our lives were never the same. All it takes is a second of staring down the barrel of a gun to make you second-guess every decision you've ever made. “I’m sorry, Luca. I should have stayed inside.”

  chapter forty-five

  BRIELLE

  What the hell do you want?" I finally find my voice and am thankful when my words come out stronger than I expected.

  The man sucks in a sharp breath as I watch his eyes grow wide. "Well. Well. Well." He shrivels back as if my words have cut him. "We've got a feisty one, guys." He licks his lips. His tongue flicks out in sharp movements and reminds me of a snake. "That's good. I like the ones with a little bite to them."

  "We'll scream," Luca threatens.

  After the man turns around in a circle, his eyes scanning the parking lot around us, we realize that we're alone.

  He raises his gun. "No, I think you're going to do exactly as I say."

  "Y- yeah, you're probably right," Luca stutters when the gun is pointed to his face.

  "Stop it!" I yell, sprinting out of Luca's hold to a few feet short of the man. "I'll go with you, just let Luca go."

  The man seems to think about it for a second, but I can see that it's only an act as he rocks his head back and forth. "Sorry, but no, hot stuff." He slinks closer. His eyes move over my body as if I’m some unknown creature to him. "I'd rather not fight your boyfriend tonight."

  My boyfrie—

  "Hey, back the fuck up!" I faintly hear Luca shouting in the background, as my body freezes, feeling the man's hands grip my waist.

  Using his gun, he slides it up my back. The barrel is perfectly positioned to fire at any moment. "What an exquisite dress," he croaks. The warmth of his breath is hot on my arm as he presses his chest to my back and sniffs my hair. "It's a shame it won't make it through the night with you."

  "You’re sick.” I try to pull away from him.

  "Walk," he demands, his hand reaching up to clutch the top of my arm before he pushes me ahead of him.

  We stumble through the darkness for a few minutes, raggedly dodging partygoers, who are casually slumped along the entrance steps. When we reach the back of the Manor, there's nothing back here but a distant light off to the left.

  Behind me, I can hear Luca yelling, but he's too far away. I know I should be fighting, kicking, screaming, anything. But for some reason, my lips are sealed shut, my body seized in fear. Is this it?

  My mind painfully sifts over all the things I never got to do.

  Well, at least I won't be dying a virgin.

  If my father were here, I’m sure he’d have a lot to say about how I managed to find myself in a situation like this. But I don’t have time to think about that.

  My heels dig into the soft ground. The image of a floundering fish out of water comes to mind, as I think about how I feel—frenzied and fearful for my life. We're a couple of hundred feet away, when I can finally discern that the light I saw in the distance is actually a spotlight from a small, white, wooden shed that’s tucked behind an equally small house.

  He pushes me against the wall as he unlatches the door. The gun is pressed to my temple in case I have any idea of running. I'm not stupid enough to think that I would get very far. It's hard to imagine that the shed is even on the same property as the Manor. It's so far away.

  "Good girl." He smiles. The yellowish-white of his teeth catches my attention as I try to focus on anything other than the fact that there’s a gun being held to my head. He steps back. "Now open it."

  I feel my feet drag below me as I hobble to the door. Luca and the others are in tow as I jerk the doors open; a cloud of dust hits me in the face as I do.

  "Move," he says in spurts, waving his hand in front of his face.

  From the outside, the shed looks freshly remodeled with a new coating of paint. But the inside is as ancient as the equipment it holds. Cobwebs line the ceiling and mostly block out the overhead light. What little light that does make it through flints with tiny bugs that come alive and beat their wings in a disorderly manner.

  "Brielle, run!"

  I turn in time to see Luca yell as the man in the black shirt, quickly answers him in the form of his fist connecting with his stomach. Luca drops his head, his knees buck
ling under him. They carry him into the shed.

  "Leave him alone!" I shout, running to my friend.

  One of the men holding Luca upright spits out, "Back up, bitch." But his elbow is doing little to shove me aside.

  It's then, without thinking, I lunge at him. My hands slam against his chest and his arms, and my feet kick at his legs.

  "Just leave him alone!"

  The man releases his hold and flips his hand back, making contact with my face. The force of it kicks my head back, and I hit the floor, crying out in pain as my teeth cut into the inside of my cheek. The pain comes in hot waves and makes my head spin.

  "You bastard!" Luca goes wild then. He turns on the men in a violent approach, his hands connecting with the man's jaw, catching them off guard.

  I look down at my hands, which are covered in dust and dirt. Kneeling on the floor, I hold my face. The smell of fertilizer and mold burns my nostrils. I barely have time to worry over the tiny drops of blood falling from my mouth, as the man in the leather jacket comes up behind me and grips my hair. His fingers curl around a bunch of strands as he pulls me to my feet. Searing pain courses through my scalp as the bobby pins are torn until they hang loose.

  "Why are you doing this?" My hands move to grab onto his wrists, desperate for some relief. "What do you want from me?"

  A voice in the back of my head tells me that I already know.

  "Well, precious," he says when we reach a spot not too far away from the others. His hand nearly punches the wall as he slams my head into it. "See, I'm what you might call a bounty hunter." He smiles. His hand with the gun disappears behind his back, only to return with a knife instead. The sleek blade glints under the soft light of the shed. The large serrations cast on it are chipped and show its use. "Only . . . I take more pleasure in my work."

  I squirm when he brings the knife to my chest. The tip of the blade glides down my cleavage and doesn't stop. "Spread your legs," he commands, and when I don't, I can hear the hiss slither from his lips. "You can spread them, or I will." He tilts his head. The hilt of the blade digs into my hip.